Selma's visits of condolence to Mr. Parsons were interrupted by the illness of her own husband. In reflecting, subsequently, she remembered that he had seemed weary and out of sorts for several days, but her conscious attention was invoked by his coming home early in the afternoon, suffering from a violent chill, and manifestly in a state of physical collapse. He went to bed at once; Selma brought blankets and a hot-water bottle, and Dr. George Page was sent for. Dr. Page was the one of Littleton's friends whom Selma had unsuccessfully yearned to know better. She had never been able to understand him exactly, but he fascinated her in spite of--perhaps because of--his bantering manner. She found difficulty in reconciling it with his reputation for hard work and masterly skill in his profession. She was constantly hoping to extract from him something worthy of his large, solid face, with its firm mouth and general expression of reserve force, but he seemed always bent on talking nonsense in her society, and more than once the disagreeable thought had occurred to her that he was laughing at her. He had come to the house after her marriage now and then, but during the past year or two she had scarcely seen him. The last time when they had met, Selma had taxed him with his neglect of her. His reply had been characteristically elusive and unsatisfactory. "I will not attempt to frame excuses for my behavior, Mrs. Littleton, for no reason which I could offer would be a justification." But on the present occasion his greeting was grave and eager. "Wilbur sick? I feared as much. I warned Pauline two months ago that he was overworking, and only last week I told him that he would break down if he did not go away for a fortnight's rest." "I wish you had spoken to me." Selma noted with satisfaction that there was no raillery in his manner now. He bent his gaze on her searchingly. "Have you not noticed that he looked ill and tired?" She did not flinch. Why indeed should she? "A little. He tired himself, I think, over the designs for Wetmore College, which he did in addition to his other work. But since the award was made it has seemed to me that he was looking better." She started to lead the way to Wilbur's room, but the doctor paused, and regarding her again fixedly, as though he had formed a resolution to ferret the secrets of her soul, said laconically: "Is he happy?" "Happy?" she echoed. "Has he anything on his mind, I mean--anything except his work?" "Nothing--that is," she added, looking up at her inquisitor with bright, interested eyes, "nothing except that he is very conscientious--over-conscientious I sometimes think." To be bandying psychological analyses with this able man was an edifying experience despite her concern for Wilbur. "I see," he answered dryly, and for an instant there was a twinkle in his eyes. Yet he added, "To make a correct diagnosis it is important to know all the facts of the case."